Hi. Loooooong time I know. This short outtake isn't just filler, but a nice peek into what Bella's maker has been up to before they reunite in her next chapter. As for the full chapter, it's coming. I promise. Real life has not been my friend, but I won't abandon the story. I'm sorry for all the delays, for updates, follow me on twitter SanguineScript.


Gregorio
Philadelphia, 1943

I relaxed as I realized that there were no passengers on the train near me. I unclenched my fists, pulling them out of my pocket as I wiggled my fingers. I was overdressed for the current weather, but there was no way to walk around during the day without layers covering every inch of my skin. I tucked my hands back into my pockets as I noticed the woman walking down the aisle. Hopefully she would pass by me. I swallowed my groan and the venom that coated my teeth as she took the seat facing me. She smiled as she glanced at me, dropping her huge bag in the empty seat.

My large hat cast a shadow over my face, and the glasses I was wearing covered the dull red color of my eyes. I had not fed in some weeks, not since I left my job at the hospital in Upstate New York. Humans were becoming smarter as the decades passed by, paperwork and trails becoming more important as the years went by. I left the hospital when questions started to become concrete as to why almost half of the critical care patients died during the overnight shifts that I worked.

I frowned, worried that soon I won't be able to feed in the matter I most preferred. Blood banks looked promising, but I did not know if stored blood would have the same taste, nor did I want to steal blood from living people who needed it. From the reports I had read, the program of blood donation and collection was slightly more advanced in England. I could always return to the Old World; I would find places there where I would be more at ease.

I closed my eyes as Bella's image flared in my thoughts, guilt and worry burning almost as hotly as my thirst. Was she still alive? Was she well? I have been told by others that we could feel the death of our progeny, as they could sense ours. I lived in dread of that sensation ripping through me; I should have gone after her that night I sensed her in Los Angeles. I slumped in my seat, burying my face in my hands.

"Why are you so sad, Mister?"

"What? No, I'm fine," I replied, my head snapping back to look at the human. Why did you answer her? I chided myself.

"You don't look fine—" she said, before stopping short. "I'm sorry; I've been told that I am too forward for my own good sometimes. It's just that we have such a long journey in front of us and you really look so absolutely heartbroken."

I waved her off; the last thing I wanted to do was talk. I was trying to hold my breath as much as possible to avoid the luring pull of fresh blood around me. I studied her as she pretended to look out the window, clearly mortified and embarrassed. I didn't need Bella's gift to know what she was thinking; it was written clearly on her face. My eyes fell to her rather large bag. Was she travelling, alone? I would never understand the men of this generation; how they carelessly let their women go about unaccompanied. I didn't want to talk about my problems, but she clearly was running from something.

"Being forward is not a sin. What about you? Where are you heading off to with one large bag that seems to have been hastily packed?"

She looked at me slowly, her eyes flickering to her bag as she turned to face me again. I had clearly hit a nerve; her pulse jumped for a fraction of a second before it slowly died back down.

"I don't know. I'm riding this train to the last stop and then getting on the next train that gets me farther away from here…" Her voice faded as she looked away again.

"The world is a dangerous place for a woman to be alone, unchaperoned," I replied. I could live for another hundred years and would never get used to the way society was so quickly loosening and losing its morals.

"Anywhere is better than what I'm leaving behind, Mister. Figures that you'd be the type to think woman are only to work their job and stay home until their boyfriend or husband comes back from war." She huffed, bolting from her seat and moving several rows down, muttering under her breath how she was going to live her life for herself and not as some accessory of any man.

Her fiery independence reminded me of Bella, although the young woman looked completely different. I turned away, giving her the privacy she wanted. I took off my shades again, closing my eyes to give the illusion of sleep as the train rolled again. After a little while, I smelled smoke, and the frantic yelling of train crew in the first car. I was about to stand when I heard a sickening snap that pitched me forward, smashing me to the ground. The train had derailed, and it was clear that there were many dead and more injured. Venom flooded my mouth as I struggled to sit up, pushing a broken seat off my leg. I peered out the window at the horror that surrounded me. The first few cars were mangled, and bodies littered the tracks. I looked to see how many people were in my car—most of them were knocked unconscious, and one or two were dead. I grabbed my bag to run away in the chaos before anyone noticed me. I was about to jump through the window I had punched out when I heard a whimper of pain.

I turned against my better judgment toward the sound; I knew it was the young woman from earlier. From her heartbeat, she was badly injured.

"Oh, God, I don't want to die. I'm too young to die." She was whispering to herself as she tried in vain to sit up. She was pinned against one of the broken seats, a metal rod impaling her stomach. She would be dead in a few hours, if not sooner. Her panicked eyes snapped to mine as I inched toward her.

"How? You are not injured at all. How?" she muttered again, wincing in pain.

"Luck I guess," I replied as I eased to sit beside her.

"Not fair, it's not fair. I'm too young, too young to die like this. I don't want to die," she rambled, tears mixing with the blood seeping from a cut on her cheek.

"Did your parents try to force you to marry someone?" I blurted out, thinking about what she muttered earlier when she walked away from me.

"How did you hear that? I was talking under my breath," she asked, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter now, does it? I'm going to die here, but, yes, my parents tried to arrange to marry me to a man old enough to be my father. I don't want to be married to a man I barely know. When I marry, it's going to be only for love and nothing else. But what does it matter, I'm dying."

I reached out and grabbed her hand. Her pulse was rapid, that fast beat before it starts to ebb away; her eyes, which were alert a few minutes ago, were started to dim.

"You don't have to die. I can save you."

"Are you an angel? Is that how you're going to save me? Sure, fine. Save me. I want to live; there is nothing more in this world I want more than to live."

"There is something you will want more than to live," I said before biting down on her wrist. I dropped her hand, turning her head to the side before biting down on her neck hard. Swallowed a mouthful of blood as more of my venom entered her system, "You'll want blood."

I held my hand over her mouth as she started to scream; that meant that the venom had successfully entered her system and the change had started. I waited until she passed out; thankfully there were several cars between us, some damaged way more than ours, which meant the humans were more focused on them. I waited until her heartbeat changed again, that strange beat as the venom pumped through her system stronger than blood. I eased the metal pipe out of her body, letting it clank to the floor. I reached for her bag, thankful that I didn't have one of my own as I grabbed her and bolted out the window. I ran fast, pushing myself to become a blur. I needed to find a safe place for the next few nights. Thankfully I knew that the cabins that dotted the nearby woods were empty; I broke into the first empty one I found to spend the next few hours. I needed to get her away from the scent of human blood.

I rummaged through her bag, finding a clean change of clothes to dress her. An old work ID card listed her name and date of birth. Catherine Piers was a few weeks shy of her 21st birthday when she died. While she was still in the coma-like clutches of the change, I went into town and stole a car; it would make it easier to travel with her in a car instead of running through the woods with her over my shoulder. I laid her out in the backseat as I took off driving fast into the wee hours of the morning; by the time the sun rose, we were halfway across the country.

Oklahoma, 1946

"For someone so old, you are incredibly unobservant, Gregorio," Catherine huffed, storming past me in the small hospital corridor. She rolled the bed easily, carrying the body of the man we drained tonight. Thankfully Mr. Xavier was no longer in pain from the cancer that racked his body. I did not know why she was upset; my progeny had taken to this life somewhat smoothly. I could always tell when she was hungry by her mood; she should be cheerful, and why she was put off confused me.

"You really don't see things the way I do, do you?" she said, breaking the silence that had been going on for a few hours since we got home. "You treat me like a kid. I am not a child."

"I never said that you were one. You show great control; you're quite a remarkable woman," I replied.

"So why won't you kiss me?" she demanded, her red eyes staring into mine. I stared at her in shock, before she grabbed a fistful of my shirt, tearing the material easily as her cool lips met mine.